


your stars burned out

by Spirit_Wolf



Series: peter parker be hurtin' [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Explosions, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Has a Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirit_Wolf/pseuds/Spirit_Wolf
Summary: The Itsy Bitsy Spider fell down the water spout.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, can be seen as michelle jones/peter parker
Series: peter parker be hurtin' [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569169
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	your stars burned out

**Author's Note:**

> um, like there's not any graphic descriptions but like there are explosions so??? people get hurt??

It’s always the nice days isn’t it? The ones where Peter isn’t completely bored out of his mind and going stir-crazy. No, it’s the day that he’s out with his friends, in a museum that somehow captures all their interests. But then the roof collapses on top of a statue and Peter calls his apologies over the sounds of screams and chaos before running towards the door, jumping over the rubble as he goes. 

He tries not to stumble and fall on his face as he changes into the suit he keeps in his bag. Karen is already alerting him of an incoming call from Tony when he pulls the mask over his head. He answers as he climbs to the top of the museum, staring down at the pile of rubble beneath the gaping hole. 

“Hey, kid. Busy?” A high whistle keeps Peter from answering, then glass shattering and crowds screaming comes from a couple of blocks away. 

“Uh, I  _ was  _ before The Morgan Museum’s roof caved in. What’s happening, do you know?” 

“Nope,” he pops the p, “It’s important enough for ol’ Saint Nick to call us in though.” Peter blinks. 

“So, like, what am I supposed to do?” Tony laughs, quietly, but it’s still there. Peter smiles broadly underneath his mask. 

“Get to the Helipad, you in your suit?” 

“Yeah, also there are other places collapsing around me, like the library kind of just…” He mimicked an explosion noise. 

“That’s a, uh, problem.” He pauses and there are other voices in the background, “Okay, just get here, Pete.”

“Will do, Mr. Stark.” The call disconnects and Peter swings. 

Listen, he really was going to go straight to the tower, meet up with Mr. Stark and get his instructions. That would’ve been the more sensible option, the option that would’ve probably upped his rates of not getting dead. But when you have a guilt-complex and preservation skills like Peter, that is a near impossible task to complete. 

It went something like this. 

He jumps off the museum and swings and he swings and he gets to the second explosion site. There’s glass that sparkles on the street and papers are scattered and people are running and shoving and Peter stops because something is wrong. His entire body registers it before his brain can even begin to process it and he’s moving down in the time it takes to blink.

When his brain catches up he realizes that it’s a scream, the kind that screeches and rips up vocal cords and bursts eardrums. And you’ve guessed it, a kid. A young one. 

He finds her underneath a filing cabinet, positioned horizontally over her back, drawers half way out and flooding over with manila folders. Every inch of exposed skin on the girl is scraped to hell, glass and dirt getting rubbed into the cuts by her pained flailing.

Peter hauls the cabinet off of her and helps her crawl out from underneath it. She’s probably around six or seven and runs to Peter, or her hero, Spider-Man. He tries to calm her down, smoothes her hair down and wipes her red face free of grit and tears. Before he can get to ask where she came from and if she knows where her parents went, there’s another explosion. 

He stands and hoists her into his arms, then hands her off to a calm looking older woman who sets her down on the curb. He tries to apologize for leaving but between the chaos of new screams and the girl’s terrified wails, it gets lost. So he swings. 

The explosions come in faster succession after that and Peter feels anxiety flare up inside his chest each time that god-awful, whistling sound comes from another few blocks away. Spider-Man is seen at every location, moving rubble, helping EMT’s lift injured civilians on to stretchers, tending to injuries when the ambulances can’t get past the blocked roads. Peter can hardly breathe. 

Another invisible missile hits a Coca-Cola billboard and Peter barely manages to swing around it and lower it onto the sidewalk instead of letting it landing on the heads of a panicked crowd. It’s all adrenaline at this point, adrenaline that keeps his heart beating despite the stress and strain he’s putting on his body by moving this fast and doing so many things at once, adrenaline that prevents his brain from processing his sprained and jammed fingers, his pounding headache, his burning eyes. His chest feels too tight and he thinks for a second that he might have cracked a rib or two. 

Other than adrenaline, it’s the crying and screams that keep him moving. Terrified people laying under destruction, praying and begging and  _ screaming _ . Peter feels their eyes burn straight through him and he thinks he’ll feel it for the nights after this (he’ll feel the panic of seeing a stroller rolling haphazardly across the street with a wailing infant inside for the rest of his life).

He tries to find a source, he looks up for a spaceship and he looks around for guys in ski masks and he can’t find anything. If it weren’t for the complete chaos going on around him, it would be a rather nice day. Normal weather, normal traffic, normal crowds. It’s always the normal days. 

When there’s a moment of brief peace (that takes forever to arrive), Peter remembers that he’s supposed to be at the Helipad and figures he should probably call Tony and explain. Tony gets to him first. 

“The news is making Jamison’s opinions look like dirt with these headlines. ‘ _ Spider-Man Doing The Most For New York’s Latest Crisis Victims’, ‘New York Vigilante Assists Where Paramedics Can’t’ _ . Putting the Avengers to shame, kid.” Peter’s brain is too busy being hyper aware of his surroundings to come up with an original come back. 

“Haha, yeah…” He responds lamely. “Uh, sorry about… y’know, bailing. On you guys.” It doesn’t sound very sincere to Peter’s ears, but Tony doesn’t seem very upset. Thank God. “Did you need me for something now? I think I can get over there, it seems pretty quiet at the moment.” 

“I was just checking in, you were doing a lot at once.” Peter is about to respond with a reassurance. A ‘I’m fine’ or maybe ‘I’ll worry about that later’ but he can’t quite get the words out. Not with the full body buzz and blaring sirens and his stomach dropping to his feet. 

Not with the whistling and the concrete crumbling beneath his feet and the red-hot heat charring his skin to ash. Peter opens his mouth to say something but he’s already falling and Karen is rattling off statistics in his ear, something she’s programmed to do. Smoke covers his view of the blue sky and fluffy white clouds and everything is moving very, very slow. 

He wonders what Ben felt like and he wonders if he’ll find out in the next few moments. He wonders if Ben was this self-aware. He decides to think about May and the worried crinkle between her eyebrows and her crow’s feet and laughter lines, her perfume and her picture frames and her glasses. He thinks about Ned and his floppy hair and their Star Wars Lego sets and MJ’s books and her smile and the single curl of purple tucked behind her ear. He remembers the Vulture and Homecoming and Tony’s hand on his shoulder, asking him to go to Germany. Tony. Tony’s gonna blame himself and he’s gonna regret ever meeting Peter Parker but Peter Parker will never regret meeting him. He’s never gonna regret Spider-Man even if he doesn’t live through this moment of weightlessness. God, he’s not gonna live, is he?

He sees everything falling around him and he tilts his head back further, glass cuts into his shoulder and smoke rushes into his mouth and he  _ screams _ . 

The impact on cracked asphalt goes unnoticed by Peter’s unconscious body. 

In the next few minutes when no one knows exactly where Spider-Man went, the teenager’s healing factor goes into overtime to try and keep his lungs expanding and his heart beating behind his battered ribcage. 

Meanwhile, Peter’s eyes flicker behind his eyelids and his brain tries to offer him some comfort in the form of dreams. 

They’re mostly hazy, too-perfect-to-be-real scenarios. Flower fields and beaches and sunsets, things Peter has only ever seen in stock photos on google. And his family is there. May stands in shallow waves with a white sundress flowings around her ankles, a laugh like wind chimes as the floppy hat on her head is whisked away by a salty breeze. MJ and Ned sit at a picnic table in Central Park, sandwiches and fruit and paper and pencils between them. Ned looks up and smiles, eyes crinkled at the corners, MJ follows suit and she smirks, eyes gleaming with something like affection. Tony’s sitting across from him, a chess table in between them. He’s chewing on sunflower seeds and reaches across the board to ruffle Peter’s hair when he makes a good move. His parents, a sunset behind them, turning his dad’s red hair to a flame and making his mom’s skin glow. They both turn to look at him, fingers laced together, and they smile. 

Ben’s there too, in every shot, every angle, no matter where Peter turns to look, his uncle is always standing there. His blue eyes are bright with something. And when Peter looks back through all these scenarios, too perfect but too real to dismiss, he sees the same look in May’s and his friend’s and Tony’s and Mom’s and Dad’s eyes. _ Pride. _

Something too complicated to name floods Peter’s chest.  _ Pride. _ They’re  _ proud _ of him. 

Peter isn’t sure he wants to wake up after that. 

But with that thought a new image appears in front of him. It’s the suit, his suit. Red and blue bright against a white background. The eyes are wide and empty and the logo, his logo, burns brightly in the center. Then he’s looking in the mirror, his bathroom mirror and it’s his original suit. Soft fabric that did nothing against pocket knives and fires but started it all. His eyes reflect back at him and Peter wakes up. 

His body hurts but the too-complicated-warm-feeling is still there and he feels the hospital sheets beneath his fingertips and the IV pricking his skin but he also feels the pride in his family’s eyes burning straight through him and that somehow makes a lot of things better. 

In fact, it makes things so much better that he manages a smile then falls back into the comfort of the pillow cushioning his probably concussed head.

\----------

Peter stays in a medically induced coma for two and a half more days after the explosion. Helen Cho tells him that it would’ve been a lot longer if he was a normal person. She sets a glass of water on his bedside table and hands him a cup of jello and a plastic spoon before leaving. 

May comes in ten minutes later, her eyes red and her skin pale. She stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, dead silent. She looks him in the eye and doesn’t say anything. Peter doesn’t break eye contact even though it feels like she’s reading his mind and he does  _ not _ break the silence.

Finally (Jesus Christ,  _ finally _ ), she stands up straighter and opens her mouth, “I was going to ground for life and take away your college textbooks but then Tony convinced me not to.” 

Peter’s mouth works faster than his brain and he snorts, “How’d he pull that one off?” His eyes go wide, because this is supposed to be a serious moment, isn’t it? Luckily, though, that seems to be the right thing to say because May laughs and it’s like wind chimes. 

She comes around the bed and sits next to his knees, gently taking his hand and thumbing over his knuckles. He squeezes gently. She sniffs quietly then looks up and puts her cold hand on his cheek, “I love you, kiddo. More than anything in the world.”

Peter finds that his own vision has gone a bit blurry, “I love you, too.” He whispers and she nods. They stay like that until the sun has dipped a little lower in the sky. 

“I should probably let your friends come see you before they have to go home.” She starts to stand. Peter sits up a little straighter. 

“They’re here?” May smiles and nods then kisses the top of his head and walks out. 

Ned and MJ are inside the room before he can blink. Ned is by his side and throwing his arms around Peter’s shoulders and telling him that they’re gonna have to wait for the Morgan Museum’s roof to get fixed before they can go back. 

When his friend pulls back, MJ is right there. She’s stone faced and Peter is just a tiny bit scared but then he looks closer and he’s surprised to find that her eyes are a little red. He gasps dramatically, “Michelle Jones are those… _ tears  _ I spy?” 

She levels him with a glare and deadpans, “I’ll leave.”

He shakes his head and smiles a bit, “No, you won’t.” She just shrugs in response. 

She does end up leaving first, only because she has a job interview in the morning and actually has to get up early. She waves and tucks the purple curl behind her ear and she door closes behind her. 

Ned doesn’t talk that much. He sits beside the bed in a plastic chair that cannot be comfortable and taps out a rhythm on the sheets. Finally, Peter asks, “What’s wrong?” Ned stops moving immediately.

“You scared me. Us.” He answers after a moment when everything was too quiet. 

“I scared myself.” Peter says without thinking but he guesses it’s kind of true. 

“Try not to do that ever again, okay?” Ned doesn’t mention what Peter says but he thinks it somehow helped his friend to hear that. 

“I promise.” Peter holds up his pinkie, because why not? Ned links them together then pulls Peter into another hug. 

“I’ll come see you tomorrow.” He says it like another promise, then walks out the door with small steps. 

The rooms gotten dark by now, the sun disappearing behind skyscrapers and Peter isn’t really expecting any more visitors, so he stares at the fading sky and decides to ignore his heavy eyelids. 

It’s after the street lamps come on and lights inside of the buildings seem much brighter that the door creaks open again. Peter thinks it’s probably a nurse or maybe Dr. Cho coming to check on him and give him pills to take before bed so he keeps looking out the window, past the lights and towards the sky where he thinks if he squints hard enough he’ll be able to see stars through the clouds. 

“Is this supposed to be a silent treatment?” Peter jumps at the voice, because it’s Tony’s and he was not expecting Tony to be in here. He shakes his head. 

“No, of course not. Why would I be giving you the silent treatment? That makes literally zero sen-” Tony laughs, a tired maybe sort of sad laugh, Peter looks at him and waits. 

“I have some machines working on your suit downstairs, you really tore it up, huh?” Peter smiles sheepishly. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Tony waves his hand around in dismissal. He’s standing ram-rod straight, his shoulders a tense line and his jaw is clenched. Peter tilts his head to the side. “I probably should’ve just gone to the Helipad.” Tony shrugs

“Maybe. You had good reason not to.” Peter looks down at his thumbs. 

Tony gets really quiet after that, like he’s contemplating something and it’s… off-putting to say the least. Peter only knows Tony as a sarcastic, quick witted, chaotic ball of energy that never stops. He’s always doing something, mumbling or waving his hands around or multi-tasking on projects. He’s never just leaning against a wall with his lips folded together and his hands clasped over one another in front of him. 

“Are you blaming yourself right now?” Peter ends up asking, because he would be surprised if he said no and he’d be a little frustrated if he said yes. 

“Are you?” Tony responds instead of actually giving Peter an answer. The teen shakes his head. “I don’t know, honestly.” He says after a few more seconds. “Something in me says I could’ve done something. But Rhodey and Pep and well… everybody, really, is saying that I couldn’t have.” He looks down and rubs the bridge of his nose, “I almost dropped out of the sky, I was so scared.” Peter looks away before Tony can catch the unknown emotion that rolls through his chest and squeezes his lungs free of oxygen. 

“I guess it was pretty stupid to be on top of building when buildings had been blowing up all around New York that entire day.” Tony’s lips get pulled up at the corners. 

“You’re braver than all of us y’know? And so much stronger, smarter, well maybe stupider, but who’s to say? I was watching some of the clips the news caught and Christ, kid. You don’t think at all, do you?” Peter tries to smile. 

“Only about the little guy.” 

“I feel like I should put a layer of bubble wrap inside the suit.” Tony rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw. 

“Maybe for April Fools.” Peter jokes and it earns him a huff of laughter. 

“Yeah. Maybe.” Tony takes a deep breath, “We caught the guy that was sending the explosives out, it was magic stuff, atom and energy displacement, the sorts. He’s under observation in Shield’s custody. Natasha almost broke his nose but Clint pulled her out of there.” 

“Did he have a motive or something, a cool origin story, at least?” Tony shakes his head. 

“Nah, we haven’t been able to get him to talk. We think he feels guilty.” Peter shrugs as a response. He yawns and looks towards the window again where the sky has gotten even darker. He hears Tony sigh and looks towards him, “Go ahead and get some rest, kid. I’ll be here in the morning.” As Tony says that, he pulls a chair from the wall and sits down, head leaned back against the wall and eyes closed. Peter stares. 

“Y’know, you could sleep in your literal  _ penthouse _ . I’m not dying or anything.” Peter says because the position that Tony’s neck is in does _not_ look comfortable. The billionaire doesn’t move though.

“I know.” He says instead and Peter looks at him for a little while longer then turns and positions the pillow how he wants it. He thinks about Tony in the corner of his room and feels that warmth from his dream flood him from head to toe. He falls asleep without another thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


End file.
